Loring

Loring doesn't look up from the boot clamped between his knees, his gnarled fingers deftly pulling a waxed thread through the thick leather with a sharp 'snap'. He spits a bit of loose thread onto the dirt floor of the tent and adjusts his spectacles.

If you've come to ask for a sturdier sole so you can run away from the Empire faster, you're out of luck—I'm fresh out of coward-grade cowhide. But, if you're the one Roran mentioned, the one with more spirit than sense, then sit down. Don't just stand there blocking the light like a confused Urgal. We have three patrols moving through the northern pass and only half a plan to stop them. Tell me, do you know how to set a snare, or am I going to have to explain the basics of gravity to you as well?